


Nice And Pretty

by blotsandcreases



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bondage, Community: valar-morekinks, Dom/sub, F/F, Orgasm Delay/Denial, google jaenara belaerys, this is nothing but an attempt at filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8770675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blotsandcreases/pseuds/blotsandcreases
Summary: Margaery knows that her Sansa does want for things to be nice and pretty.For the Round 11 of valar-morekinks with the prompt: "two characters from the books to have a gay or lesbian encounter."





	

**Author's Note:**

> The full prompt is: _please, all this heterosexual content leaves me bone dry. i want two characters from the books to have a gay or lesbian encounter._ Who can resist a clamour for more gay content?
> 
> The phrase _sweet sunbeam_ is from the song "Maiden" by MØ.

The bedroom door opens, and Margaery hears the cackling laughter of Sansa’s sister mingled with Catelyn Stark’s steady timbre. Margaery huffs at this interruption. But as her breath dampens the pillow squashed against her cheek, Margaery is just thankful that Sansa came back to finish what they started.

The door shuts with a decided snap. Margaery’s blood pounding in her ears is once more the only sound in the room.

From somewhere beyond her vision, Sansa murmurs, “I’m back, sweet sunbeam.” 

Her Sansa’s voice is always gentle. Sweet. Airy as Myrish lace. It’s almost like the way Sansa’s wedge heels take measured and firm steps beyond the bed. She is certainly wearing the three-inch pair lined with grey velvet. Margaery’s mind drifts to Sansa’s long, delicious legs. An image springs up in her brain like a punch. An image of her, on her knees, slowly rolling up lace stockings on Sansa’s legs, planting kisses full of teeth and tongue before each rolled up inch of lace.

Margaery groans. “Oh, _gods_.”

“I thought I told you not to talk,” Sansa’s voice gently scolds.

Sansa nudges the vibrator more insistently against Margaery’s damp knickers. The Jaenara Belaerys, left on against Margaery when Sansa answered the unexpected doorbell, sends a stronger series of teasing pulses from Margaery’s cunt lips all the way to her throat.

Margaery yelps, bites on her lip, whimpers. Her knees tremble where they are pressed on the sheets. Beaded sweat trickles down the back of her thigh. Her arse trembles from where it is bobbing high in the air.

“That’s better,” Sansa says, before lazily dragging up the vibrator along Margaery’s cunt lip. 

Margaery strains, her shoulders digging forward on the bed. The rope tied around her upper arms and chest did not give. The same goes for the rope tying her wrists together beneath her. Her arms are starting to numb now, but when she tugs at them, she is only tugging at the rope tying her bound wrists to the spreader bar.

She feels Sansa gently push aside Margaery’s wet knickers, the vibrator still slowly pulsing against Margaery’s lips. Feels her dip a finger where Margaery is so wet, where Margaery immediately clenches hungrily.

When Sansa closes her lips around Margaery’s clit and gives a single, languid suck, Margaery almost sobs against the bunched up pillow sheet, straining against her ropes, straining to roll her hips closer to that lovely mouth.

But Sansa is gone almost immediately. Only the Jaenara Belaerys remains in its teasing wickedness.

Margaery breathes raggedly through her nose. Blurrily she can see the heavy cream curtain fluttering on the window across from her. She picked it out yesterday, for the onset of winter. It’s perfect. She cajoled and demanded and stressed to outfitters that their first flat be perfect, especially at the beginning of winter. Sansa thanked her with a sweet kiss and a breakfast in bed this morning and promised Margaery a relaxing day.

Sansa’s footsteps come back from across the room. Margaery tries to stay as still as she can with her hips twitching at the vibrator left in her knickers.

“Yellow roses for my sweet sunbeam,” Sansa says, and before Margaery can process it, the tips of Sansa’s hair brush Margaery’s naked spine, and she feels Sansa tucking in something with the upper arm rope. For an instant Margaery’s consciousness sinks into the plush gentle waft of Sansa’s orchid perfume.

Another one is tucked on her other upper arm. Sansa stays out of Margaery’s vision, but Margaery feels that the roses were shorn clean of thorns.

Sansa wetly kisses Margaery’s nape, tucking in other blooms on the rope running across Margaery’s shoulder blades. The hotness simmering from Margaery's scalp and neck rockets up, rattling Margaery even more to a desperate mess. “Mauve hydrangeas,” Sansa says.

Sansa moves down Margaery’s body. Margaery feels her reaching below Margaery’s raised arse to tuck in a bloom in the rope holding together Margaery’s wrists.

“Winter rose,” Sansa says with a happy sigh. Then she promptly runs a hot tongue across Margaery’s knickers-clad clit, just beyond the vibrator.

Margaery whines. She feels herself clenching madly, more wetness burbling out of her cunt.

“Very pretty,” Sansa murmurs.

Sansa kisses along Margaery’s inner thigh, up and up and up, her lips soft and gentle, before she reaches the spot near Margaery’s aching cunt, licking at the slick mess there. Sansa never goes for Margaery’s cunt directly. She licks and kisses some more, high on Margaery’s inner thigh, gently, gently, like numerous fluttering birds – before her teeth close down and she bites.

Margaery keens. 

Dizzily Margaery thinks that her Sansa really is a wolf in dove’s feathers.

And then Sansa is easily pushing in two fingers into her, with that teasing vibrator still driving Margaery to the edge of coherence. Sansa gives two slow pumps, giving Margaery what she wants, but only barely, not near enough.

Margaery clamps down on Sansa’s fingers with all her might. She strains against her ropes again. She feels her plush soaking insides fluttering madly, and she clenches some more, milking, almost wishing she could suck Sansa whole right in and never let her go.

Sansa laughs softly, and brushes against Margaery’s clit. An uncontrollable broken moan tumbles out of Margaery as shudders ripple across her body. She feels more wetness squelching around Sansa’s still fingers to drip out of her.

And then Sansa is dragging her fingers out again.

The pillow sheet crushed against half of Margaery’s face is damp with sweat and tears. Her orgasm is still frustratingly and deliciously just beyond her reach. She breathes in, trying to calm the banging in her chest, before feeling Sansa tucking in more blooms with the spreader bar’s clamps holding Margaery’s ankles.

“Yellow and winter roses,” Sansa says. She kisses Margaery’s calf. Margaery’s stomach jumps.

“There we are,” Sansa says. “Very nice and pretty.”

Margaery nearly lets out a hysterical laugh. Of course. Her Sansa does love for things to be nice and pretty.

“I’ll be back soon,” Sansa continues, and Margaery can hear her smoothing out her skirt. “I just have to send off Mum and Arya to their shopping.”

Two fingers are nudged against Margaery lips. Margaery opens her mouth and tastes herself, whimpering. As Margaery licks and laps she thinks she can hear Sansa slowly exhale. When she is done, Sansa pulls out her fingers and briefly brushes Margaery’s lower lip, still out of sight.

“Very nice,” Sansa says, with an almost dreamy lilt in her Northern brogue. “Stay nice and pretty. When I come back I don’t want to see the flowers crushed or fallen off.”

Margaery can’t help but moan at the hotness of her Sansa. If she wasn’t tied up she’d be pushing Sansa up against the wall and tearing off her clothes.

Sansa coos, “You do want to come, don’t you." And then she leaves, the teasing-slow vibrator still on inside Margaery’s knickers, Margaery panting against the sheets and trying not to move too much.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> When not scrambling for coursework deadlines or daydreaming about fics I'm short on time to write, I'm over at blotsandcreases.tumblr.com sighing happily at all the great things. :)


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